[ He scarcely pulls off before he's trying to speak, lips sticky with threads of spit and pre, soft and warm against his swollen glans: ] Can't help it, you sound so—
[ Pinocchio doesn't flounder for the word he wants to use, something positive, surely, as much as he simply stuffs his mouth with his cock. It's a noisy, shameless slurp around his heated flesh as the inside of his cheeks rub against the sides of his cock, cheeks hollowing, curls of hair sticking to the corners of his wet mouth.
He... loves this, he loves doing this for him, drinks up the praise that drips from Wriothesley's mouth. Eager to hear and feel every sizzle of pleasure that makes toes curl and breath hitch, he chases after the places that make him shiver. His lashes sweep his cheeks, but his blue eyes are all the more striking for the way he keeps gazing up at him, soft, adoring, darker for the pupils blown wide by his desire. ]
no subject
[ Pinocchio doesn't flounder for the word he wants to use, something positive, surely, as much as he simply stuffs his mouth with his cock. It's a noisy, shameless slurp around his heated flesh as the inside of his cheeks rub against the sides of his cock, cheeks hollowing, curls of hair sticking to the corners of his wet mouth.
He... loves this, he loves doing this for him, drinks up the praise that drips from Wriothesley's mouth. Eager to hear and feel every sizzle of pleasure that makes toes curl and breath hitch, he chases after the places that make him shiver. His lashes sweep his cheeks, but his blue eyes are all the more striking for the way he keeps gazing up at him, soft, adoring, darker for the pupils blown wide by his desire. ]